The Sky Whispers

A familiar archipelago of steel appeared in the horizon, and Nimbus finally felt himself relax a little. He popped his neck, and flipped on the radio.

“Obisdian 1 to Hrimfaxi. Requesting permission to land.”

“Roger Obsidian 1, you are clear to land. Proceed to Dock 2. Welcome home sir.”

The collection of silhouettes drew closer into an impressive armada of airships. High above the clouds were nine aircraft carriers flanked by dozens of smaller cruisers and destroyers. The planes began separating from their battle formation, returning to their respective airships. Nimbus lead his Obsidians to a markedly larger vessel at the heart of the fleet: The Battleship Hrimfaxi.

Bristling with guns and propellers, the Hrimfaxi is a massive construct of Earth Pony over-engineering, stretching some 900ft in length, and reaching almost twenty stories at its highest point. It combines four separate airship hulls in a diamond configuration to bear the enormous weight of its primary armament of nine 406mm guns in triple turrets. It is by far the largest and most powerful battleship ever constructed, and consequently in gross violation of the pre-war Hoofington Airship Treaty. The treaty imposed size and quantity limitations in order to prevent an arms race among the three Earth Pony nations. Apparently the Weimare Republic agreed with the treaty whole heartedly…

Nimbus maneuvered his Peregrine behind the Hrimfaxi’s belly. The ship passed overhead for an absurdly long time before he reached the hanger bay located towards the bow. A signal pony with bright neon flags was waiving him in as he approached. Nimbus hardly needed such instructions normally, but battle damages made hovering his plane in the right spot difficult. After some fidgeting the signal pony finally gave the all-clear. Mechanical claws latched onto his wings and tail, and hoisted him up to the hanger above.

The hanger was separated by catwalks into three lanes, now crammed with the clamor of maintenance crews. Fuel tanks, ammo boxes, and repair tools lay everywhere in organized chaos as they rushed to service the returning planes. A ladder was quickly extended to the cockpit, and Nimbus slid open his canopy.

Considering the size of the Hrimfaxi, the hanger was quite small, only able to house three squadrons of Peregrines. She was never designed to operate aircrafts, and the hanger was simply an ammunition bay hastily converted to extend the ship’s utility. For despite the Hrimfaxi’s awesome firepower, battleships were no longer relevant to Earth Pony fleet doctrine as aircrafts could deliver more firepower, more accurately, and at greater ranges. Aircraft carriers were also far cheaper to build and service.

In fact, the Hrimfaxi was the last operational battleship of any Earth Pony fleet, the rest being either lost or scrapped.  Unfortunately for the Republic, the ship took so much public funds to construct, and was so trumped up by its propaganda machines, that it was politically impossible to get rid of. For better or for worse, it was the pride of the Weimare fleet, and symbol of Earth Pony ingenuity (so ingenious that firing more than three of its main guns at once would capsize the vessel).

Nimbus ripped off his aviator cap as he stepped onto the catwalk, and marveled at his bullet ridden Peregrine. Entire sections of the fuselage looked like the surface of the moon, and black paint was chipping off everywhere. The wings especially had taken quite a beating with shredded panels revealing the machinery underneath. “You did great out there girl,” he whispered as he placed a gentle hoof on the Peregrine.

“Sir Admiral Corsica wishes to see you in her quarters.”

Nimbus’s private moment was broken by a maintenance officer. He returned an annoyed glare.

“I know sir. Repair everything but leave the engine to you,” she stammered.

Nimbus said nothing, and was about to walk away when something terrible caught his eye.

“Hey! Get away from there!” he shouted.

A maintenance crew was standing over the engine.

“But sir, it’s on fire,” he whimpered back.

Nimbus stepped towards him, and peeked into the engine. Sure enough there was a small red glow behind the mesh of valves. The maintenance crew was clutching a fire extinguisher.

“Carry on then,” he said trying his best to maintain his cool. Nimbus briskly walked off before anypony could see his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

The Admiral’s quarter was a spacious and well furnished room, located high atop the ship’s superstructure. The back wall was almost entirely a window, offering a spectacular vista of the skies.  Admiral Corsica was sitting behind an ornate desk, arguing over the phone. A muffled voice on the other end was clearly audible, and sounded less than pleased. Corsica looked up upon hearing Nimbus come in, and motioned for him to sit down.

“Look General, I’m not going to send in my entire fleet into areas not scouted for anti aircraft defense.” The admiral lifted her free hoof to her temple, pretending to blow her brains out.

Nimbus plopped himself in one of her cushy chairs, helping himself to a cup of coffee and a muffin from a tray on her desk. Corsica scowled as he reached out for another muffin. Nimbus met her gaze and paused, pretending to sit back. He took two more as soon as she turned away.

“Now what will my battleship or cruisers accomplish that my bombers cannot?” she continued. “You said it yourself. Your mighty stallions took the hill without even needing my third wave. Besides, my Manticores are much more surgical than the big guns.”

Finishing off the muffins, Nimbus now reached for the box of her imported Zebran cigars. But Corsica was prepared this time, stomping shut the box without even looking. She wagged an admonishing hoof at him, and tossed Nimbus a pack of cheap cigarettes instead.

“Trust me, you want close air support instead of artillery shells flying in willy-nilly from 30 miles out. We don’t want to be blowing up random orphanages or, friendly firing your little soldiers now do we?” Nimbus recognized that sarcastic tone, and shook his head smiling. Corsica winked, and pressed further.

“Oh pardon me General. Clearly I was mistaken. ‘Honor’ and ‘Valor’ meant lining up my ships in neat little rows bow to stern, flying right up to a fortress, and slugging it out like gentlecolts.” Corsica was clearly enjoying herself.  “Oh the glory we would’ve won for the Weimare Republic. Surely my sailors’ mothers would have applauded their completely asinine deaths.”

“Au contraire my dear General. I don’t think my ‘hunks of metal’ are less expendable than ponies.  However, if by ‘hunks of metal’ you are referring to my toaster then yes, perhaps it is less expendable than your infinite wisdom.”

The Admiral pulled the phone away from her ear with a devious chuckle, spewing coffee all over her immaculate navy colored uniform. The General’s uncontrolled fury now filled the entire room.

“I’ve had just about enough of your snide remarks Admiral.! I am Maximilian Von Manestein, Baron of the noble House Von Manestein, the oldest and most honored family in the entire Republic! Though I’m sure the ‘Butcher of Stalliongrad’ knows not what honor even means. Know your place mare!”

The rant hardly phased Corsica who was preoccupied with more important matters. “Damn, just had this thing dry cleaned,” she grumbled looking down at her soiled uniform.

She lifted the phone to her ear again, ready to deliver the final blow. “Yes yes it’s been a pleasure too. You take care now General,” but the line went dead with a violent click before she could finish.

“He tends to do that,” Nimbus offered.

“That stubborn bastard.  He’s stuck in the past in some romanticized chivalry bullshit. Someday it’s going to get himself and a lot of ponies killed.” Corsica chugged down the rest of her coffee, and poured herself another cup. “It’s not like I can do anything about it either. High Command won’t let me jeopardize any of my larger ships, what with this Earth Pony civil war on the horizon.”

Nimbus knew her frustration well. The three earth pony nations, the Weimare Republic, the Rolling Hills Federation, and the Dahlia Protectorate, were all driving towards the unicorn’s capital city of Unicornia, and the vast crystal mines which lay beneath. Though the earth ponies were within bombing range of Unicornia, neither side attacked the city proper or its factories, lest they unwittingly help their “allies” reach it first.

Corsica pulled off her wet uniform and undid her scarf, revealing the light blue pony underneath. She looked somewhat frail, and her age showed more without the golden epaulettes and smart creases of her uniform.

“Now, on to more important business.” Her jocular tone was replaced with a serious voice befitting her rank. “I got the initial report already: 21 Manticores and 9 Peregrines lost, 24 aircrafts damaged……we haven’t taken losses like that in a while. And am I reading this right? One of the Centurion was traveling faster than sound?”

“Something like that,” Nimbus replied nonchalantly. He stared intently out the large window behind the desk, sucking greedily on his cigarette.

Corsica raised an eye brow. “This is the first confirmed report of a pegasus breaking the sound barrier; a speed believed by out scientists to be unattainable, and you act about as shocked as me telling you what I had for lunch.”

Nimbus casually blew smoke rings. “And what did you have for lunch?”

Corsica shook her head, knowing she won’t get anything further out of him. “Well, I suppose panicking isn’t going to convince this Centurion to hold still in front of our flak guns. I’ll get back to you once we find their Citadel.”

Now it was Nimbus’s turn to raise an eye brow.  A Citadel was both home and fortress to the pegasi; an enormous mobile city of cloud housing Legionnaires and their families, though this distinction was hardly useful. The pegasi were a warrior race through and through, and everypony was first and foremost a Legionnaire.

“What makes you think there’s a Citadel in the area,” Nimbus asked.  “The pegasi only have a handful of them left after Stalliongrad.  Why would they risk the last of their cities defending the unicorns?”

Indeed, High Command even thought that the pegasi abandoned their alliance with the unicorns after their decisive defeat at the Battle of Stalliongrad.  In one fell swoop, the pegasi lost a majority of their Legionnaires along with virtually all their veteran Centurions in the battle. With most of their warriors dead, the earth pony fleets all but mopped up their undefended Citadels. The pegasi hardly deployed after that, and it was believed that the remaining Citadels retreated into the remote corners of the Equestrian sky.

“Just a hunch.” Corsica lit herself a Zebran cigar with an elegant strike of a match. The rich aroma quickly overpowered Nimbus’s cigarette, rendering it flavorless.

“The pegasi will fight to the last pony, you know that,” she explained. “It’s been nearly two years since Stalliongrad. I think they've scrounged together enough ponies to make a last stand, and bring honor to their ancestors or some stupid shit like that.”

“What, you think it’s Pegasopolis?” Nimbus asked.

“Not sure, but if you want a glorious funeral pyre then your capital city is the place to do it. Besides, if they’re deploying 40 Legionnaires at a time, there’s got to be a Citadel supporting them.”

Corsica took an overtly satisfying drag of the cigar as if to taunt him, and signal that she would answer no further questions. She gave him a wily smile, and blew smoke rings in his direction.  Nimbus jealously put out his cigarette. He was far from convinced but he took the hint.

“Anyhow, I’m glad you’re ok Nimbus. How’s your squadron doing?”

“I didn’t lose any of my Peregrines. Obsidian 5 took some secondary fragmentation in the flank but he’ll live.”

Corsica sighed. “Still haven’t bothered learning the names of your squadron mates huh.”

“Not much point,” he said sharply. “I can’t really relate to the younger generation. Besides, even if I could you’ll reassign them to another squadron after a few months. You turned my squadron into a damn day care.”

“Oh come on, High Command has my hooves tied. We gotta churn out as many pilots with combat experience as possible before this civil war hits, and what better way than to assign recruits to the best damn ace in Equestria.  I’m just following orders here Nimbus.”

Nimbus looked away in disgust. “Yeah I know. You’re real good at following orders Admiral.”

Corsica bit her lips. “I suppose I am,” she muttered.  A hint of despair flashed across her face but she quickly masked it behind a coffee cup.

“Hey I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s alright,” she assured as she pushed her graying auburn mane from her eyes. “We’ve all had a long day. Get some sleep and food while you can. I’m doubling air patrols, and I want you back out there tonight. Dismissed Lieutenant.”

Nimbus gave her a concerned look but Corsica already had her nose in the mission report again. He reluctantly got up and headed for the door, but stopped at the threshold. “Admiral,” he called back. Nimbus waived a Zebran cigar in front of his grinning face.

Corsica looked up, momentarily puzzled to see her cigar in his hoof. She quickly turned to her cigar box only to find it hanging open.  Her playful smirk rushed back. “Oh you thieving piece of shit.”

But Nimbus was already running out the door.

“I’m enlisting in the Air Fleet.”

Nimbus’s father didn’t look up from the chessboard as he considered his next move. “But this city doesn’t have an Air Fleet.”

“I meant the Weimare Republic Air Fleet. I already signed the papers so don’t try to talk me out of it,” Nimbus said resolutely.

He now had his father’s full attention. “What?”

“I said I joined the Republic Air Fleet. I ship out tonight. My saddlebags are already packed.”

“Nimbus, if this is a joke it’s not funny,” his mother warned. An awkward silence filled the living room as his parents stared intently at him, looking (hoping) for any hint of a prank.

Nimbus tried to force a laugh. “Hey it’s no big deal. I’ll be out in a few years.” His parents’ expression only grew heavier.

He tried again. “Come on, you know I don’t really belong here. I think it’ll be a good experience being with my own kind for a bit. Maybe see Equestria outside the walls of Coltstantinople too”.

“No……” his mother whimpered. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to tremble. Nimbus tried to comfort her but she pulled away.  Suddenly he was tackled, and pinned against the wall. His father stood over him like a demon, his wings in full extension.

“You stupid son of a bitch!” he roared. “I took you in, raised you as my own son, and this is how you betray me!” He punched Nimbus hard in the stomach. “I tried to protect you from the horrors of war. Your mother and I worked tirelessly to shield you from the horrid things ponies do to each other, and you eagerly run towards it like a naïve little fanpony!” He stomped hard on Nimbus who was now doubled over on the floor.

Blood gushed from his mouth as he coughed violently, but his father didn’t let up. “Do you even know what happens when a bomb goes off? Have you ever heard the screams of a pony with their guts hanging open? Do you even know the cries of a pony on fire?” Nimbus was stomped on after every question.

His father was panting heavily now, and stopped to pick him up by the neck. He bashed Nimbus hard against the wall, and brought him up to his face. “Have you forgotten,” he whispered sinisterly, “how I got my old scars?”

Nimbus tried to focus his blurring vision at his father’s left wing. Half of it was badly burnt, and no feathers grew from the grotesque mangle of flesh. Nimbus said nothing.

“You’re no son of mine.” His father released him, and Nimbus fell to the floor with a dull thud. “Get out my house, and never come back dirt pony.” With that he stormed off.

Nimbus stumbled to his feet, coughing up more blood. He turned towards his mother who was now sobbing uncontrollably. He stood there for a moment, wanting to see her one last time, but she kept her face hidden behind her wings.

As he headed for the door a small voice stopped him. “Nimbus, what’s going on? Did Dad catch you drinking again?” He turned to see a small orange colt peeking his head from upstairs.

“Yeah I thought he might not notice if I filled the vodka back up with water.” Nimbus forced himself to grin. “So much for that huh.”

“Is everything ok? There was lots of shouting and stuff,” the colt asked unconvinced.

“Yeah they just need some time to cool off,” he replied hiding his bruised flank. “Hey Icarus, I’m going for a little walk. I’ll be stopping at the convenient store so you want anything?”

Icarus’s eyes widened. “But you’re already in trouble.”

“Exactly,” Nimbus replied coolly. Icarus smiled from ear to ear.

“I’ll buy you a bottle of your favorite Polka Cola ok. But you gotta be a good little colt, and go back to bed now. Promise me you’ll go to sleep, and I’ll sneak you the goods into your toy chest by tomorrow morning.”

“Not those pussy ass diet Polka Colas ok,” Icarus replied.

Nimbus gave a genuine chuckle. “That’s my bro.”

Icarus beamed as he bounced back up the stairs. “Good night Nimbus,” he said over his shoulder.

“Good night Icarus.”

Nimbus put on his saddlebags, and left into the rainy night.

“Fucking hell!” Nimbus woke up with a start. He was drenched in sweat from head to hoof.  It was 8:00PM, and his alarm clock was doing its darnedest to let him know. Nimbus had four more hours till his night patrol. He grabbed his flight jacket and aviator cap off the floor, and headed to the hanger bay.

The hanger bay was less crowded now with only two dozen or so maintenance ponies making final repairs. His Peregrine was completely reborn with almost no sign of damage from the battle earlier. Nimbus wasn’t about to give the maintenance ponies too much credit though. Earth pony planes used modular armor plating that could easily be switched out when damaged.

Several ponies were standing atop his plane, giving it a fresh coat of paint. All Air Fleet aircrafts were normally green with blue-white underbellies, but Obsidian planes sported a distinct all black color scheme with matching emblems: a white arrowhead with a skull in the middle. It was mandated from High Command to take advantage of the ‘Black Void’ mythos. Apparently it instilled fear in the enemy while inspiring allied pilots. Nimbus thought it just marked him as a target. Besides, he missed the days when he could freely draw on his own plane.

Nimbus found the engine block already removed from his Peregrine, and hauled to his private work station.  Nimbus winced at the condition it was in, as if he was seeing his own child black and blued by a schoolhouse bully. Pulling on headphones, he played his favorite Judas Pony record, and set to work

Nimbus meticulously took apart the contraption, inspecting each piece like a diamond cutter.  He grudgingly replaced irreparably damaged parts while cleaning the rest. He lovingly polished each valve and tubing, lubricating and rubbing them gently…..he was lost in the pulsating vocals of Judas Pony and the smell of oil.

By the time he was finished, his squadron mates were assembled in the hanger waiting for him. They stood at attention, and saluted him with uncanny precision. Nimbus realized he was short one pony.

“Where’s Obsidian 5?” he demanded.

“Still in the infirmary sir,” one of them piped.

Nimbus nodded thoughtfully. “Alright let’s get this over with.”

He hated night patrols.